Winter Lupine
by a-violet-rabbit
Summary: Darius leaves for the Freljord to find an ally in the Winter's Claw; he finds a fire among the snow and ice that he cannot turn away from, and a truth that shakes his core. ( merges old and new lore ; takes place about 9-10 years in the past ; works off headcanons ; original characters involved ; the canon is a lie )
1. Chapter 1

The wind of the Freljord was bitter, the air carrying a taste that was found nowhere else in the world. No matter where you walked among the snow, you could taste the bitter, hostile magics that was invested within the land. Whether the land was at war with itself, or the rest of the world, Darius could not tell; all he could tell was that he wanted more furs, and he wasn't entirely certain he could feel his toes.

His eyes were squinted against the wind; he could no longer tell how much of his unit were behind him. The noise of the wind was enough that it drowned out what he was able to hear; his eyes were searching for the flames of a Noxian camp among the whiteout blizzard. He could hear the howling of wolves, but pressed on with little care; if they were to dare attacking, it was their hides he would wear.

The grace of a fire in the distance was more than enough to bring a flare of joy to his heart. He had never imagined he'd love the sight of fire quite so much as he did then. There was a figure that came forward after a few dozen feet more; he couldn't see their face, but they were wearing Noxian armor. They guided him forward, calling to those who remained behind him; he would have to give this soldier a reward for getting them there sooner.

Once he was inside a tent, where the blast of warm air nearly fogged his vision without any sign of glas in front of it, he finally let out a rattled sigh. HIs body felt locked up in every joint, his fingers felt frozen in place, he couldn't feel his toes. It was nobody's fault that a blizzard had descended; it was his own he hadn't prepared for the possibility.

"General, you should sit." That voice was familiar; a woman of his warband, Liliana. She was always concerned for his wellbeing, and was one of his greatest healers, when he let her use her power on him. His only response was a grunt and reluctant obedience; a smile graced his face when his brother burst into the heat and promptly flopped down in front of the fire with no ceremony whatsoever.

He deserved that for his decision to go without an actual coat.

He didn't truly hear what Liliana said next; he felt like falling asleep, and therefore had to focus on staying awake. For him, this meant recounting memories of childhood, recounting war strategies and figuring out what the next day's agenda would be.

"What is our food situation?"

"A shortage, sir. We planned to fix that when the storm dies down."

"Alert me when it does. I will take part. Anything to get rid of the cold in my bones."

There was a chuckle that erupted between the soldiers, even as he shrugged off the cold metal that had done him no good and took the offer of a warm pelt for a blanket. He was aware they could sympathize; they had been here for nearly a week. It was hard enough without a fire- without one, he wouldn't have been surprised if they'd all frozen to death. Tomorrow, he would hunt, and tomorrow, he would figure out where they were to go from here. They had been sent to play diplomatic relations with the Winter's Claw and their ferocious queen, Sejuani.

They were not informed on how to get on her good side.

For now, however, he would focus on returning feeling to his fingers and toes and ears; he could focus on the rest when he was awake and aware. A yawn passed his lips, and without another word, he slipped into sleep by the fire. Politics would wait.


	2. A Cold Welcome

mild rude language.

* * *

He had thought the Freljordians would come to their camp in the night; they were used to such weather, and were more likely to be able to withstand and navigate it. It was practically expected they'd come to investigate the newcomers to the frozen tundra; it was only natural. However, he hadn't expected the sight before him; a girl no more than twenty, ten years his junior, astride a boar that could feed his entire camp for a week.

"Shouldn't that thing be food?" he grumbled, Urnoxian falling from his lips as he slightly nudged his brother. The joke had to have gotten somewhere; the anxiety that had been showing on Draven's face dissolved as the man snorted, covering his face to hide the trademark grin that would one day get him killed.

His hands gripped the handle of his axe, a wary expression crossing his face as he watched the girl on the boar. The rest of the Freljordians circling the camp were loud, moving- they were stalking. She was not. It implied she didn't have to- or she was too naive to do so.

After a period that felt like hours, she raised her hand; those circling the camp retreated to her side, settling into a messy formation that would at least protect them from an attack from wild animals. Her eyes were as fixated upon him as his were on hers, and the air felt still for the first time since he arrived-

And she started laughing.

His shoulders relaxed, and he shook his head. This must be Sejuani- younger than he thought, but clearly old enough to be a leader It gave him an idea of how quickly she had amassed her following. His axe fell to the ground beside him, and he nodded towards her.

"Sejuani?"

A woman wrapped in fur and hands bound in leather, astride a creature looking more bear than boar, called back, "Sejuani is her name, but you call her Chief." She sounded almost smug, though more amused than anything; they couldn't see anything of her face thanks to the helm that covered her appearance.

"You speak Va-Nox?" Draven's voice gave away the same confusion Darius felt- it was strange to meet a Freljordian native who spoke something from outside. For this woman to speak it was staggering at the very least.

"I trade my work to you people. Of course I speak it."

"Or are you a coward and a runaway?"

Liliana had spoken out of turn, but her point was valid. Darius could feel his grip tighten as the woman reached to her helm and pulled it from her head; hair dark as a starless night covered the woman's head, braids going under the armor she wore. Eyes as blue as the ice around them stared at Liliana as though she had implied that she was a leper.

"I am no more a coward than you are a whore."

There was a burst of laughter from Sejuani before she turned her head to her translator and said something that neither Darius nor Draven could understand. Whatever was said in return brought a burst of laughter from the entire party of Winter's Claw before the same woman bound in furs called out again.

"The Chief wants to know if you have eaten, or if you would like to come to our camp for feasting? We have more food than we can eat, and you survived the blizzard… which means you at least know how to survive."

Draven's eyes lit up, and Darius sighed as the younger replied without any form of hesitation, "Yes, ma'am!"

One day, he would hit his brother. His stomach decided today was not that day. He groaned and waved a confirmation, to which the majority of the camp breathed a sigh of relief. The translator- who had declined the pleasure of her name- bowed her head in acknowledgement, and a few moments later the Chieftan was turning around.

"Do not fall behind. Another storm is mounting."

The translator turned her mount, following her chief without another word and pulling her helm back on; Darius looked at his brother for the briefest of moments before scrambling to follow; they didn't know when said storm would arrive, and neither they nor their men seemed to like the idea of being caught in another whiteout.

* * *

Va-Noxian is the newer version of Noxian language, a constantly adapting language that's commonly spoken yet has no real, tangible written language.

Urnoxian is an older, written form that is only used by natives or those who have been taught to read and write.


	3. Greetings and Drinks

The feast was remarkable, if not by taste then by company. Darius could see why they worked so well together; the Winter's Claw would roughhouse over the smallest things and then begin laughing when they were done. There was a variety of meats- some of which was used as a blunt weapon before consumption- and vegetation that he'd never seen before. He figured it was simply part of the tundra.

He had been invited to sit next to the woman who had translated for him, who sat to the left of Sejuani. When he had asked if politics were to be brought to meals, he simply received a shake of the head in return; he'd accepted it as simply part of the customs. Draven, in his normal fashion, fit right in with his tales of glory in the arenas; he had half the table on the edge of their seats with his signing and over exuberance.

He wondered how many of them understood him.

Liliana had elected to stay out of the feasting, instead taking her food outside and eating there; he assumed the translator's quip about cowardice was digging under her skin. She was always thin-skinned about such things.

"Are you a General?"

He was snapped out of his thoughts when the translator spoke, gaining his attention and making him turn his head. He blinked, taking a moment to comprehend what she had said and take in the features of her face now that they were closer to each other; the blue of her eyes was rather unnerving, and he could swear on his axe there were flecks of gold or red in them. He supposed it was simply how she was.

"I am. We are a small warband, expendable at the moment, but I am their General."

"You are young for such a position."

"You don't seem to be old."

She snorted into her drink, having to set it down and wipe her face before casting him another look. "I will take that as a compliment."

Her eyes looked to his brother, and he followed her gaze; Draven was now on the table, striking his signature pose to the glee of the warriors around him. He couldn't help the grin that crossed his face when the marksman unceremoniously toppled from his perch and crashed into his own chair headfirst.

"Is he quite alright?"

"He has the ego of a dragon in the heart of a man."

"... Dragon?"

He turned his head, furrowing his brows. "You have never heard of a dragon?"

"Dragons are not in the myths of the Freljord. Rams, bears, trolls…"

"Trolls?"

"Perhaps one day I will explain them."

There was a tone in her voice Darius almost couldn't identify. It was between amusement and understanding, a tone that wasn't uncommon in Noxus; she was hiding something.

"What is your name?"

"What is yours?"

"I won't ask twice, Freljordian."

"You should have asked earlier." She brought her drink to her lips, eyes closing as she drank. "My name is Carryn Flameborn. I am a blacksmith, currently employed by the Winter's Claw. Your turn."

"... General Darius Vald of the Noxian Empire."

"My chief is Sejuani Icefang-"

She halted in her sentence when the younger leader reached over and tugged on her arm, saying something that earned a full-fledged laugh from Carryn.

"And she challenges you to a drinking competition!"

Darius blinked, even as Carryn repeated the challenge louder for the entire tent to hear; Noxians and Freljordians alike cheered and chanted. Draven himself stuck his tongue out at Darius, calling out something that was barely discernible among the noise, yet Darius felt like he knew it was a 'don't lose' remark.

As such, he flashed Draven an inappropriate gesture before lifting his hand in agreement.

It only got louder.

The first drink was easy. As was the second, fourth, sixth… and then it began to hit him. She was smaller than he was, but she could handle her liquor just as well- or at least, visibly she did. His vision was blurry. He knew he shouldn't stand up.

He wasn't entirely sure which drink gave him the impulse to do otherwise, nor when he began singing the stupid bar song, or when he'd fallen back in his chair. He wasn't sure when she fell onto the table, either, but he could see that she had. Sejuani was redder than he was, he thought, but he couldn't see himself. Carryn was laughing too hard to drink anything herself, and Draven was bellowing about how his brother was obviously the winner. It was about the time he'd gone to sit down he realized that he'd made a wonderfully foolish mistake, and this was going to hurt like a horse kick to his head when he woke.

He didn't know when he blacked out, but some part of him knew he would never live this down.

* * *

I got a very small complaint about the length of my chapters and I'm sorry? I'll work on it as best I can. This is really for fun.

Also; last names in the Freljord are half earned, half clan. It depends on which clan you're from, however.  
For example; Carryn's clan is Flame-. Meaning her mother was xxxx Flamesong / Flameblade. Sejuani's mother was likely Steelfang / Stormfang or Iceclaw / Icegaze. It's a maternal transference.


End file.
